


Come What May

by bunwing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, Hopeful Ending, flashbacks to some more wholesome times at the monastery, it's all just a little bit sad!, reader is not byleth!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunwing/pseuds/bunwing
Summary: Instead of Rodrigue, you are the one to take the hit for Dimitri at Gronder Field.He stared onwards, as he so often did. You had spent countless nights in the cathedral, making fruitless attempts to communicate with him; Dimitri’s ghosts had no interest in allowing him to hear you. Your pleas, in all their desperation, were seen only by the stars as they peered down at you through the broken vaulted roof. They blinked at you curiously, watching you as you reverted from a grown and capable woman to her teenage self again, begging for her first love to look at her just once.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 98





	Come What May

_**now.** _

The battlefield flooded your senses. The greensward was muddy and overturned, the once-flourishing field transformed by war into a desolate, barren wasteland. Fires burnt their way through the forests, the acrid scent of smoke overwhelming you as it surged into your nostrils, burning your sinuses and making your throat feel thick with every swallow. Every time you inhaled, the pungent air constricted around your lungs. An iron vice that squeezed your chest tighter with every step. Your legs felt leaden, burdened with dread.

The all too familiar clang of metal and armour resounded in your ears as the Kingdom troops surged forward, their boots trampling into the mire and splattering against the hem of your robes. Overhead, the blue banners of Faerghus fluttered and whipped above you in the wind. You had marched under that sigil numerous times before in recent times, but none of the memories of those battles rang as clear in your head as the first time you had fought beneath the banner of the Blue Lions.

How infernal that memory seemed now. How unfair.

As you surged forward, flanking your commanders, the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was a haunting fingerprint on your mind. Although you retraced the same steps along the grass, you were certain that you were unrecognisable to the child that fought here five years ago. An eagle’s screech tore you from your thoughts of the past, your eyes fixating on its wings as it glided across the ashy, leaden skies.

How easy it flew away. You were not so fortunate, entrapped by the flanks of your friends and your Kingdom’s battalions as you prepared yourself to march into the fray of battle against your former classmates.

At that moment, the horizon was illuminated in the blink of an eye. Through the thick sheet of fog, comets of fire soared into the sky. They seemed to be suspended in the air for a brief moment, blazing spheres glowing as brightly as fireflies, setting the entire skyline aflame before cascading to the ground and alighting the grass. It had begun. Instinctively you tightened your furs closer around your body, but the effort was futile. The temperature was moderate. It was your blood that had turned to ice. Beside you, Mercedes uttered a prayer for you and your enemies beneath her breath. A little ways away, Annette’s head was turned upwards to the flaming horizon, her once joyful face weathered and worn down by the torment of past battle, and the fear of the one yet to come.

It had taken you a while to adjust to magic use. Unlike Mercedes and Annette who had trained in the art of sorcery long before their time at the Officers Academy, your weapon of choice had been an axe when you had first stepped through the doors of Garreg Mach. Never would you have dreamt that you would ever don the robes of a gremory, nor for a second did you ever believe you would abandon your axe and find confidence in the familiarity of the swelling of dark magic as it surged from your palms and rained havoc down upon your enemies.

It had been Professor Byleth that had uncovered your hidden talent for reason. But it had been your house leader who had encouraged you to hone that talent.

  
Your house leader, who had never given up on you.

 _Dimitri_.

An eerie stillness rippled through the troops as their rhythmic footsteps ground to a halt. Wind whistled in your ears, the sound muted by the roar of blood as it rushed in your ears. The troops readied themselves, the first wave ready to meet the Empire forces in battle. You flexed your hands, magic surging to your fingertips. You could feel the familiar heat of the sorcery as it simmered beneath your flesh, pressing and coursing under the thin layer of your skin. Your eyes squeezed shut.

_**before**_.

“(Y/N), I truly do believe you have a gift. The Professor wouldn’t lie!” Dimitri’s voice echoed through the classroom in protest. Through the windows, the afternoon sunlight streamed through, shining upon particles of dust that danced in the air. The light was warm, bathing your house leader’s pale face. He spoke earnestly, brightly, assuredly. Goddess, you could write a book on all of the reasons why you admired him. The way he seemed so unimpeachable as he contested your doubts on the future of your studies. The way his hair fell forward into his clear blue eyes as he moved forward to touch your arm gently as he protested. The way he never once had any lack of conviction or confidence in your abilities.

Each night, a tempest of thoughts would writhe in your head before you drifted into uncertain sleep. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was an affliction that you just could not seem to shake off. Goddess, and there it was again. Your cynicism. How you always so falsely compared him to a disease, clawing to find any way to critique him. The fault was your own. Your attempt at critique was simply an excuse for your own misgivings. You knew deep down, you were in love with him. But he was your house leader and closest friend, so out of rationality and necessity, you pushed him away, clawing desperately to find any excuse to critique him. He was the Crown Prince of Faerghus, and you were nothing but a commoner from the Rhodos Coast. It was laughable that you would even conjure up any fantasy in which the two of you could ever share a future.

You mustered a roll of your eyes and a dismissive hand gesture. “I’m no sorcerer, Dimitri. I never will be. After all, I wield an axe. Come on, the two disciplines couldn’t be further from one another,” you answered shortly, inwardly blanching at your own negative tone. For the love of Seiros, Dimitri was trying to help you out, and here you were sounding as brutally serious as Ingrid! Yet the boy that sat before you did not falter. No, your disparaging response didn’t deter Dimitri - did it ever?

“Look, (Y/N). This is the Professor we are discussing! Do you really not trust their judgment, after everything you have seen them do?” Dimitri was persistent, yet still so unwaveringly gentle as he spoke to you. You rubbed your hands across your face, trying to cleanse your face of the stress that tormented you.

Reason. Faith. They seemed worlds away from you - and goddess, were you terrified of letting anyone down. The Professor; your classmates; Lady Rhea, who had taken a chance on you, and of course Dimitri.

The duration of your time at the academy had been plagued by doubts of your own abilities. Each day as you wandered the corridors, or attended your classes, the feeling that you were a fraud was inescapable. The nobility system was so entrenched at Garreg Mach, and the values and principles that the Blue Lions upheld were unwaveringly compatible with the establishment that throughout your entire life you had felt so excluded from.

Commoners just did not practise magic. So why did Dimitri and the Professor think you would be any good at it?

“Dimitri, I don’t know,” you answered quietly, allowing yourself just one moment’s vulnerability. Before you could continue, Dimitri’s hand moved from your arm, resting it gently on your own. His fingertips, calloused from years of battle, curled around yours.

“(Y/N,)” he repeated. “If you are hesitant to have credence in the Professor’s judgment. Then please, I beg of you. Have credence in mine.”

_**now**_.

A few feet away from you, Dimitri stood unyielding, his feet planted firmly against the soil. The light from Areadhbar shone through the brume, lighting a dim path for the Kingdom Army. It loomed above him, resembling a ghostly metacarpus in the fog. His back was hunched and twisted beneath his blue fur cloak that fell to his feet in blood-stained, tattered rags. Your skin crawled as you looked at him; the torment at seeing his body so crooked and constricted from his years of pain and suffering was sometimes too much to bear.

He stared onwards, as he so often did. You had spent countless nights in the cathedral, making fruitless attempts to communicate with him; Dimitri’s ghosts had no interest in allowing him to hear you. Your pleas, in all their desperation, were seen only by the stars as they peered down at you through the broken vaulted roof. They blinked at you curiously, watching you as you reverted from a grown and capable woman to her teenage self again, begging for her first love to look at her just once.

Although Rodrigue Fraldarius and Byleth flanked the Crown Prince, you noted that he had never looked more alone. A pang of longing and of remorse pierced your heart. It should be you by his side. The last time the two of you had fought together at Gronder Field, you had fought at his side as his adjutant. From that day on had always promised each other to always fight alongside each-other in battle. You made a feeble attempt to suppress the memory that grew more vivid in your mind with every passing, but it was ineffective. Dimitri always found a way to claw himself back into your mind, grasping onto you, refusing to let you go. He was your vice.

That day, all those many moons ago, had been the first time that you tried reason as your primary weapon in battle. It had been the first time you had bared your soul to the world, as you allowed yourself to feel the calefaction of the black magic as it spread through your limbs, so intimately and so unfamiliarly. You had remembered the faces of the children of nobles across the three houses as they watched you like a hawk, silently judging you as a commoner for using magic so freely.

But every step of the way, Dimitri had been there. He had shouted rallies of encouragement across to you, watching proudly with every spell you cast upon your fellow classmates in the Golden Deer and Black Eagles.

_**before.**_

The spring zephyr was a welcome one as it sailed through your air and pressed against your skin. Inside, you felt aflame. If there was one thing that Professor Byleth was not, it was slothful. Exhaustion racked your bones and wore you down. There was barely a moment to rest. Almost as soon as you had followed up Dimitri’s powerful lance attacks, or cast your own spells of dark magic against classmates draped in yellow and red accented armour, you had to almost immediately hold up the line of defence.  
Your footwork was becoming more sluggish with every step, and you had been weakened from initial artillery attacks at the beginning of the battle, courtesy of Bernadetta. Things had certainly begun to turn the tide, however; Ashe was deftly raining attacks upon the last few stragglers from the Deer, and Felix and Sylvain danced around each-other to deliver precise and calculated attacks to the enemy. The end was nigh, as Hilda limped from the battlefield, leaving only a couple of students and Claude to defend the western stronghold.

Thank Goddess. You remembered fondly past battles - you didn’t tire easily when you wielded your axe, having practised with it for so long. Though you could not deny the feeling that stirred within you with every black magic spell you cast. Something powerful within you that had yet to be fully unlocked. It was different, and it felt - right.

From behind you, Byleth called out a command. “Dimitri, (Y/N). Move forward! You will be able to defeat Claude with a joint attack!” You whipped around on your ankle. Byleth had fallen behind now, with the remaining units from your house. Felix, Annette and Sylvain were engaged with the other students surrounding the stronghold, and an opening directly to Claude had presented itself. You had an opportunity.

Instinctively you turned to Dimitri. “Dimitri - I don’t know about this. It would take everything I have left to conjure up another Miasma spell. Let me fall back and ask Byleth if I can get an axe. I’ll be right back,” you said to him.

“There isn’t any time, (Y/N)!” Dimitri answered. “Come. If it takes everything in you left to conjure the spell, then let it! If you fall, I can always carry you back to the monastery. I have every faith in you. We all do,” He flashed you a beam, comforting and reassuring. With every word, you knew he spoke the truth. He would carry you back if you passed out? Well, hey. That wasn’t such a bad ultimatum.

“Alright,” you grinned back. “But if I faint and I find out that you haven’t carried me back, I’ll be very disappointed.” The sound of Dimitri’s laugh was sugary sweet in juxtaposition with the harsh clatter of sword against sword, as Felix engaged the final soldier in battle.

“Don’t you worry, (Y/N). I always keep my word!” The two of you pressed forward, Dimitri closing the range between him and Claude so Claude could not easily shoot back.

“Ah, look who it is! The lovebirds have come to finish me off. Even Lorenz couldn’t have predicted a more bittersweet ending in one of his poems,” Claude quipped, nocking an arrow as he spoke. It would not be until later that you appreciated Claude’s swift tactics to catch you off guard - and how easily they worked. Even in the midst of battle, you couldn’t stop the heat that rose to your cheeks, and the nervous swelling in the back of your throat as you anticipated Dimitri’s response.

“Indeed, Claude! We will happily face you, here and now. Do not hold back!”

And there it was. The first time Dimitri had ever openly acknowledged his feelings for you. The beginning of it all.

_**now**_.

How useless you felt. You stared at the back of his head, where his matted mane of hair fell to his shoulders, saturated with blood, mud and only Sothis knew what else. You could almost feel the ghostly touch of his golden tousled locks against your fingers, an echo of your past. All those nights you had spent together in his room, the gentle silk of his sheets wrapped around your entwined bodies. You could not fight the evocations that wormed their way into your mind. You remembered how you would stir and awaken in the night, only to fall back to sleep to the lull of the rise and fall of his chest. You remembered how he would murmur stories of your future together, always reassuring you that there would be one, regardless of your social standing - or lack of one.

You could not fight what came next. Bile rose thickly and uncomfortably in the back of your throat. Clutching at your stomach, you doubled over in dread, in pain, in loss.

“Oh, (Y/N)!” Mercedes exclaimed as she heard you retch, rushing over to you and placing a comforting hand upon your shoulder. She massaged your back, uttering a spell to calm your nerves and your sickness. The magic washed over your body in a warm wave, numbing your senses and dulling the pain that ate away at you. Even though you were more competent in reason than faith, you knew that no healing spell could mend the broken heart that you suffered from, but did not have the courage or strength to tell Mercedes that. Not now. There were far bigger concerns at hand. The sound of the first wave of Kingdom soldiers as they engaged in battle with the enemy reinforced that thought, almost as soon as it had crossed your mind.

Still, the temporary relief of the white magic was something that you were grateful for. If you were to die now, at least the fear of death would not be so potent.

“It’s time,” Mercedes whispered to you gently.

Ahead, you heard him. _That voice._ The one that had once whispered sweet nothings into your ear, now spoke of killing with such sick ease.

“Know that I will tear your heads from your shoulders. The dead must have their tribute.”

_I have every faith in you._

“Be strong, (Y/N). Be brave.” Mercedes’ hand lifted from your shoulder as the two of you readied yourselves for battle.

His roar pierced the rushing in your ears. “Kill every last one of them!”

_We all do._

-

It never seemed right to you that you had ever grown accustomed to the smell of the dead. Corpses littered Gronder Field; sons and daughters, reduced to mere foundations of a pile of bodies. The pungent scent of fire had been replaced with the metallic one of blood. In the days after your first taste of combat, when the church had sent children to fight their battles, you and Dimitri would comfort one another. Both of you suffered from the same grief and guilt from slaying your enemies.

You choked on a laugh, not one born from humour but of malady. How was it fair that two teenagers in love had taken paths that had splintered so far from each other? Today you had watched the man you love mutilate your foes. He cut down the same classmates he once celebrated and feasted with. The same man who stood metres away from you now, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his skin scarred and splattered with blood. Beneath that cloak, and the blood, you could see him. The same boy that had wept tears of contrition into your shoulder after every battle fought.

A hand on your shoulder startled you from your trance. Rodrigue. He was talking to you. How long had he been talking to you? You could see his lips move, but his words seemed warped. It was as if you were underwater, sinking ever deeper, his face - all of their faces - staring down at you from above the surface. The Shield of Faerghus studied your face carefully, his eyebrows furrowing and knitting into an expression of concern.

“Have some water, (Y/N),” Rodrigue said to you, his voice vague and garbled as it reached your ears. He held a flask up to your lips and you obliged. You hadn’t realised how coarse and scratchy your throat had felt from the smoke, and you were grateful for the coolness of the liquid. You took the flask from him, noticing the blood that stained your hands as you took it.

“We need to move on, (Y/N). The Imperial Army is closing in. Do you hear me?”

You nodded slowly, your head growing heavier with each movement. Rodrigue nodded, placing a boot in the saddle of his steed and pushing off from the ground, mounting it. The Kingdom army had already carved a path across the battlefield, most of them having already left Gronder to retreat to the Bridge of Myrddin. It seemed you were one of the last few stragglers left, too caught up in your living nightmare to realise. You trudged across the flattened grass, following Rodrigue as he galloped forward to talk to Dimitri. Either side of the track, bodies lay strewn across the ground, a blur of yellow and red sigils and armour. How many of them had died at your hands? How many of them did you know?

You followed Rodrigue, becoming increasingly aware of the raised voices as you fell into line with the Professor and Rodrigue’s steed. Rodrigue’s voice was laced with desperation as he spoke to the Crown Prince.

“I understand how you feel, but the Imperial army is drawing closer by the second, Your Highness,” Rodrigue urged.

Dimitri’s response was nothing more of a growl. “I’ll kill all of them! No matter how many hundreds or thousands of them there are.” Footsteps crunching against grass alerted you to someone’s presence behind you. You and Rodrigue spun around, your mind still whirring from Dimitri’s barbarous threat.

A girl, no older than twelve, was standing before you.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” you asked her, startled. This was no place for a child - such exposure to death would surely tarnish her dreams for a long time. You knew that more than most, having heard Dimitri’s murmurs of anguish as he slept beside you. Rodrigue hummed in agreement, “(Y/N) is right. You must fall back now. It is far too dangerous! Ask for my son, Felix. He will take care of you until we return.”

Byleth moved forward to stand beside you, their face as steely as ever. Some time later, you would recall the way their hand had moved to hover over their sword hilt - something that, in the moment, you had not even noticed. That day at Gronder Field, you had witnessed a great deal of vile sights, but none compared to what came next. A dull leer contorted the girl’s virtuous features, her teeth cracking into a wicked, humourless grin.

She broke into a run, her hand reaching beneath the folds of her cloak. From behind you, Rodrigue’s warning reverberated through the air.

“Did I catch you off guard, Your Highness?” she hissed. A flash of fabric - a glint of silver. Someone was calling Dimitri’s name. Was it your voice? - You hadn’t even noticed yourself speak, or move - but there you were, standing right in front of him.

You blinked for a few seconds, tears beginning to surge in the corner of your eyes. Why? Looking up at Rodrigue, you wondered why he wore such a panicked expression. Has something happened? You couldn’t quite recall your thoughts…

“What’s -” you murmured in an attempt to follow your line of enquiry. An ache began to press against your abdomen, as if someone had punched you in the gut. Pressing a palm against your stomach, your fingers began to tremble as you realised your skin was painted in a sanguine sheen. Fever began to ripple across your skin, a piercing pain shooting through your limbs as you were choked with the realisation of what was happening.

“God goddess - (Y/N)!” Rodrigue yelled, jumping down from his horse and running to your aid. “Professor, now!” he called to Byleth, his hand pressing against the wound. A few away, the blades of the Professor’s sword cut through the air in a blaze, and the shriek of the young girl sliced through the air. Black spots were beginning to cloud your vision, dancing in the corners of your line of vision. The head of House Fraldarius began to dissipate, morphing into a blur of blues and whites.

“(Y/N)...Rodrigue, tell me. Is she -?” How long had it been, since you had heard that voice utter your name? Was this a dream after all?

And then, all at once, there was silence.

_**before.** _

The sound of distant festivities echoed throughout the monastery, upbeat music and peals of mirthful laughter reverberating through the lofty hallows. The monastery had not held back on honouring the Blue Lions’ victory, and you were grateful for it, having spent most of the night dancing, feasting and laughing with your closest friends from your house, and the other classes too. The celebrations were just beginning, and no doubt would live on throughout the night, as the house leaders, with aid from Professor Byleth, had successfully persuaded Seteth to lift the curfew. The party was all consuming and you were well in need of a breath of fresh air if you were to last until dawn.

Your shoes clicked against the stone floor as you escaped from the dining hall. Your stomach full with the finest food in Garreg Mach, and your head a little giddy (courtesy of some wine smuggled in by Sylvain), your feet broke into a small skip as you travelled through the monastery. The night was cool as you swung open the doors and headed out into the night, the summer night sky a velvet blanket above you. Even the stars had come out to dance and blink in their own celebration. You crossed the grassy courtyard to wander beneath the cloisters, swinging your legs over the wall and resting your head against the arch.

“I wondered where you had got to, (Y/N)!”

You closed your eyes comfortably, not a bit startled as his voice seeped into your ears, sweet as honey and every bit as welcome.

Perhaps it was Sylvain’s wine that was responsible for your response, and the absence of your nerves as you spoke to him. “Good evening, Your Highness,” you called back in a sing-song tone, smiling as he sat down next to you.

Dimitri pulled a face, “Oh goddess, not you too,” he laughed breathily. “I never thought I would have to ask you not to call me by that awful title.” He folded his hands in his lap, nudging you with his arm.

You smiled back, “Yeah, I know. Only kidding. I promise I won’t call you that again.”

He smiled, resting his hands behind him and leaning back as he looked up at the sky. “You were truly brilliant, today. Do you know that?”

You pulled a face, ready to contest his statement. “(Y/N). I mean it,” he grabbed your hand, clutching it between both of his. Images of the battle flashed into your mind. The way you curved your spells, aiming at them at your opponent with apparent ease.

“I suppose I was pretty good, wasn’t I?” you finally conceded, admitting defeat. He laughed, his hand retreating to the safety of his own lap, “Yes, you were! Finally.”

The two of you sat in amiable silence for a few beats of a second, before both of you opened your mouth to speak at the same time.

“About earlier, with Claude -”  
“What you said to Claude…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he began, clearing his throat, but you waved your hand for him to continue. “Go on, Dimitri. Something tells me that we’re on the same page.”

A chuckle escaped from his lips, “Yes...well! Perhaps you’re right. I wanted to - well, the truth is - I - a-about what I said, earlier at Gronder. It was in the heat of the moment, you see, and - I apologise if I overstepped the line. The truth is -”

He turned to face you, his azure eyes meeting yours. “I meant it. Truthfully, I believe that I have been in love with you for some time. And I think all of our friends might have been aware of it before myself, to be completely honest,” he added. You leaned back against the wall, enjoying the sensation of euphoria that filled your body as you listened to him speak. He was in love with you. As he spoke, a sudden breeze fluttered through the trees in the courtyard. Instinctively, you rubbed your arms as you felt your skin prickle, goose flesh spreading across his pale arms, which appeared translucent under the moonlight. Dimitri’s eyes widened, a blush mounting his cheeks and mantling his brow.

“Oh - you’re cold! And here I am, prattling on-” he exclaimed, panicked, searching around to see if you had brought a coat outdoors with you.

Chimes of your laughter echoed in the cloisters, “No - Dimitri, no! Seriously, I can assure you that I’m fine!” you protested. It was futile - he had already confiscated his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped the fabric around your frame tightly, his hands rubbing your arms as he did so.

“If you feel the same about me - which Sylvain insists that you do, and that I’m a fool for not saying anything sooner-” the two of you paused to laugh. “-then, (Y/N) - may I kiss you?”

The question was delicate. Spun from silk. As soon as he asked it to you, the whole world seemed to dissipate, like sand falling in an hourglass. Softly, quietly, gently. Out of fear of destroying it, you gave him affirmation with a small nod and a wide smile. He leaned in, hushed laughter escaping from both of your lips as you knocked noses accidentally. He cupped your cheeks in his hands as if he was cupping porcelain, afraid to break you. His lips were red with blush, and a little chapped. As you connected, you could taste the faint trace of Sylvain’s honey wine on his parted lips (clearly everyone had benefited from the Dutch courage), and again on his tongue as the kiss deepened, stronger this time. It was an inexperienced kiss - the two of you were hardly experts, but it was sweet. It was welcome.

Your hands snaked around his neck, your fingers gently playing with the strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“(Y/N),” he murmured against your lips with a sigh, drawing back from the kiss and pressing his forehead against yours. “May I be frank with you? I felt more alive today at your side than I have in a very long time.”

You pushed a strand of hair from out of his eyes with the curve of your hand, “Then stay beside me.”

  
He smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He lingered, as if savouring every taste of you.

  
“I will my love, come what may.”

_**after.** _

You felt as if you had been climbing for an eternity. Your fingers clawed to the rockface, your hands bloody with every scramble you took. Despite the rocks being jagged and hard against your flesh, you knew you couldn’t let go of them as you scaled the cliff, ascending higher and higher. You were submerged in darkness, and falling back into the chasm of shadows beneath you was not an option. It was not long until the summit - that much you knew.

It took some strength to crack your eyelids open, your whole body racked with fatigue and a dull, throbbing pain that coursed through every part of you. Your pain seemed to be concentrated in your abdomen, though all of your senses felt disjointed and your memories tangled. An arc of white light streamed into eyesight as your lids ruptured open for the first time in what felt like an eternity, rendering you sightless. A groan escaped your lips, your eyes firmly closing again in discomfort as you returned to the solace of the dark.

“Close the curtains, for pity’s sake. You’ll blind her,” a growl of a voice rumbled into your consciousness. Some part of you stirred, wanting to hear the voice again. In your disoriented state, you couldn’t be entirely sure of who it was, but you knew you were safe with them. Your fingers were slipping now, your grip on the rock beneath you becoming slippery as you tumbled backwards, falling back into the murky gloom.

It took you several attempts to reach the summit of consciousness - until you were pushed back into the land of the living. When you finally came to, the room’s walls danced with candlelight, shadowy fingers outstretched and flickering. It was evening. You recognised Manuela’s desk, and the anatomy model that used to make you jump when you were a student whenever you walked past. You were in the infirmary at Garreg Mach.The room was empty - Manuela must have gone to sleep. Your mind and eyes were bleary, and an ache still spread through your body. Using what little strength you had to push yourself up into a hunched sitting position, you were caught off guard by the pain that shot through your abdomen from the sudden movement. It was all-shattering and all-consuming, and you let out a feeble cry, clutching at your stomach through the blankets.  
“Don’t move.”

Perhaps you would have screamed if you had had any energy left to do so. The room had not been empty after all. He emerged from the shadows of the far corner of the room, and near unrecognisable without his cloak which hung from the back of a chair. Instead, he was dressed in a white shirt and slacks, both of them too small for him. No doubt he had been forced into a different change of clothes, someone else’s. Perhaps Sylvain’s. Without his furs, he looked smaller. More vulnerable.

More human.

You could make out scars that littered his neck and forearms, uneven notches of red and white. New and old. In the darkness of your infirmary, he studied you closely with his one eye.

“Dimitri.” You attempted to shift again, trying to get a better look at him. He let out an exasperated sigh, unable to contain his anger.

“(Y/N), I said don’t move,” he ordered you, and you were paralysed. Not from his biting command, but from the way his lips uttered your name.  
“What happened?” you croaked, your voice hoarse from a lack of use.

“You stepped in front of me. You took the hit meant for me,” Dimitri answered. “What were you thinking, for Goddess’ sake? Do you have any idea what it would have been like for me if you had been killed? If you haunted me too?”

The response bubbled on your tongue, spilling out before you even had the chance to stop it. “Well, Your Highness. If I died, I think it would have been worse for me,” you responded, unable to hide the vitriol that entangled your words.

Dimitri leaned back in his chair, the darkness obscuring his expression. “Do not call me that,” he answered shortly, with an air of choked finality, the echo of an unspoken promise bleeding into the room.

  
You held your tongue, but couldn’t seem to withstand the growing bitterness that spread throughout you. You knew he had his demons - but goddess, who didn’t? You had killed. You had watched your best friends die. You were not the same children who had shared their first giddy kiss beneath the Garreg Mach monastery cloisters.

  
And here he was, _lecturing you?_

“I just saved your life, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. I think I have the right to call you whatever I please,” you snapped suddenly, years of torment bubbling from your poisoned lips. “Five years ago, I stood on the streets of Fhirdiad and listened to the announcement that you had been executed. You are haunted by the ghosts of your father, and Glenn, and whoever. Well I was haunted by you. The grief of losing you was like losing myself,” you spat out, each word you spoke felt like it was crushing you.

“But then you returned. Except not once did you ever look at me. I tried my hardest to accept that, I really did. I knew that there was much more at stake. So I swallowed my pride and my pain, and I carried on. That - that battle. That little girl - Dimitri, you expected me to stand around and lose you all over again? You may pay no heed to us, but there are a lot of people in this monastery that still love you. Myself included,” you spat out, choking on your own tongue at the end of your sentence.

Dimitri rose to his feet. He stared down at you, your eyes meeting, but you did not see him. He had become a ghost himself.

“You do not know anything about what you’re speaking of!” he hissed. “The dead are powerless. The burden falls to those who are left behind to avenge them! To correct what wrongs have been committed!”

You were silent for several moments, permitting your mind to organise the whirlwind of thoughts that turned and twisted in your head.

And then you spoke.

“What if I had died, Dimitri?” you asked, dropping into a whisper. “Answer me that. Please, I beg of you. Because the truth of it, is that I would not have wanted you to avenge me. I would not have wanted to see Edelgard’s head on a stick, for what she did to me. I would have been murdered by a little girl, who had become a ruin of herself because of the horrors of war. And do you know something? I would have died thinking that the only man I ever loved abhorred me.”

Your breathing was shallow and rapid; a new wave of pain racked your body from the exertion from your words. The room was engulfed in an uneasy silence, the only sounds were the crooked rise and fall of your breathing, and the gentle flickering of the candles. He lowered himself into his chair, his visible eye transfixed on the ground, unable to meet yours. It betrayed nothing of what he was feeling - even if he was feeling at all.

And then he spoke.

“Forgive me.” Gravelly and hard, his words were cracked earth after weeks of drought. He offered nothing more. Perhaps he didn’t have to. That was him. You heard him clear as day. Dimitri.

Outside, the wind roared, rattling the window panes. A chill ran up your spine, a thin coating of sweat covering your skin. Your abdomen throbbed mercilessly. Instinctively, you held your fingers to the ghost of the wound. You could feel the stitches through the thin shift that clung to your clammy skin. You shivered, chills beginning to set in as the long night yawned before you.

“You must rest,” Dimitri said, noticing your fingers hover above your injury. His speech was disjointed, like he was learning how to speak again. His footsteps fell heavy against the floorboards, his hunched over frame facing the door, prepared to make his escape. Dimitri pulled his cloak from its resting place on the back of the chair and pulled it around him. His one eye refused to meet yours, his guilt hanging dense and present in the room. Darkness overwhelmed you as your lids shuddered and closed. You clawed weakly to the sliver of hope he had given you, but it was slipping through your fingers like fine grain, disappearing into the abyss of darkness that had swallowed you up. The real Dimitri, that lay beneath the lost soul that stood in the same room as you now, was seemingly gone. Your haunted beloved, a puppet for the demons that prowled in his shadow, had left as soon as he arrived. Your hands grappled sorely to the precipice that you had climbed to return to consciousness. Your heartbeat thrummed in your mouth and blood roared in your ears, as pain conquered you once more. How was it that your flesh could burn and feel so glacial, all at the same time?

A shift. You could feel something weighty on top of you, pressing down. The density of it seemed to swallow you whole and a rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins. You were under attack. Lurching forward, your body propelled itself out of the dizzying drowse you had unwillingly fallen into.

There it was. A phantom, watching over you. Ghostly white. Thin.

“Dimitri?” you whispered, black dots inking your vision. The spectre responded with a low hum of affirmation. It was him. He hadn’t left.

“Stay beside me,” you croaked out, your voice barely audible from beneath the cloak that he had removed once more and draped onto you. He lowered himself beside you hesitantly, his fingers wrapping around your own. His touch felt so unsure, as if he was afraid he would hurt you, but you knew you did not have time to dwell on it.

Exhaustion. Pain. _Relief_. You felt it all.

The gnawing ache began to overcome your limbs again, and you began to slip away once more. But this time, you knew you would come back. His hand was there to anchor you.

Come what may.

**Author's Note:**

> she finally did it! she made an AO3 account! this was a request sent in to me on my tumblr (@faerghusfour) and i decided it would be a good opportunity for me to get round to making an account here!! 
> 
> got a sylvix slowburn fic series in the works, as well as a dimitri/reader/felix love triangle slowburn series which should get SPICY ....so stick around for more shenanigans


End file.
